"Here comes the greatest doctor in the world," whispered the voice. "God has sent him; you have no right to buy skates when you might, with the same money, purchase such aid for your father!" The wooden runners gave an exultant squeak. Hundreds of beautiful skates were gleaming and vanishing in the air above him. He felt the money tingle in his fingers. The old doctor looked fearfully grim and forbidding. Hans' heart was in his throat, but he found voice enough to cry out, just as he was passing: "Mynheer Boekman!" The great man halted, and sticking out his thin under lip, looked scowlingly about him. Hans was in for it now. "Mynheer," he panted, drawing close to the fierce-looking doctor, "I knew you could be none other than the famous Boekman. I have to ask a great favor----" "Humph!" muttered the doctor, preparing to skate past the intruder,--"Get out of the way--I've no money--never give to beggars." "I am no beggar, Mynheer," retorted Hans proudly, at the same time producing his mite of silver with a grand air. "I wish to consult with you about my father. He is a living man, but sits like one dead. He cannot think. His words mean nothing--but he is not sick. He fell on the dykes." "Hey? what?" cried the doctor beginning to listen. Hans told the whole story in an incoherent way, dashing off a tear once or twice as he talked, and finally ending with an earnest, "Oh, do see him, Mynheer. His body is well--it is only his mind--I know this money is not enough; but take it, Mynheer, I will earn more--I know I will--Oh! I will toil for you all my life, if you will but cure my father!" What was the matter with the old doctor? A brightness like sunlight beamed from his face. His eyes were kind and moist; the hand that had lately clutched his cane, as if preparing to strike, was laid gently upon Hans' shoulder. "Put up your money, boy, I do not want it--we will see your father. It is a hopeless case, I fear. How long did you say?" "Ten years, Mynheer," sobbed Hans, radiant with sudden hope. "Ah! a bad case; but I shall see him. Let me think. To-day I start for Leyden, to return in a week, then you may expect me. Where is it?" "A mile south of Broek, Mynheer, near the canal. It is only a poor, broken-down hut. Any of the children thereabout can point it out to your honor," added Hans, with a heavy sigh; "they are all half afraid of the place; they call it the idiot's cottage." "That will do," said the doctor, hurrying on, with a bright backward nod at Hans, "I shall be there. A hopeless case," he muttered to himself, "but the boy pleases me. His eye is like my poor Laurens. Confound it, shall I never forget that young scoundrel!" and, scowling more darkly than ever, the doctor pursued his silent way. Again Hans was skating toward Amsterdam on the squeaking wooden runners; again his fingers tingled against the money in his pocket; again the boyish whistle rose unconsciously to his lips.